


The Cedar House

by bessemerprocess



Category: Spooks
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-30
Updated: 2008-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/pseuds/bessemerprocess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Quinn's post spy life doesn't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cedar House

Tom Quinn never quite takes to civilian life, so it's almost a relief when two goons grab him off the street. He's been out of the game for almost three years, he knows nothing important anymore, but he doesn't tell them that. Instead, he calls up all his training, some of it rustier than others, and prepares to be interrogated. Nothing comes though; the two men sit and stare at him for what seems like hours. Finally, they must receive a signal, because he has a needle in his arm, and he's unconscious before it comes out.

His mouth is cottony and metallic tasting; he concentrates on that for the first few minutes of consciousness. It takes him a while to figure out he's not in any pain, not even in the old places where bones have been broken and reset one to many times. He feels a little light headed and worst of all happier than he has felt since Ellie. The euphoria sweeps over him, crashing like waves on all of his training and he finds himself laughing uncontrollably.

The goons pull him up to his feet and he can concentrate; well enough to tell he's in a new place but not well enough to figure out where he is, just that it's very white. He's in white too, scrubs maybe, definitely not the suit he was wearing when they picked him up. The goons deposit him in a chair and strap his arms in. He could probably get out of it if he could just get his mind to work, but he's having trouble even being worried about his situation.

"Mr. Quinn," said the voice. It's not one of the goons and Tom can't figure out where it's coming from. He craned his head about but there is no one else in the room that he can see. "Tom Quinn, formerly of MI-5, lately of the Centre for the Survivors of Torture. The scuttlebutt has it Harry Pearce threw you out on your ass for going white hat on him. If you look even deeper, people in the know are saying you're running the deepest of cover ops. Tell me, Tom, what are you doing for Harry Pearce?"

Tom knows he should be feeling his' adrenaline spike right about now but there is nothing but bliss. "Nothing," he said and it's the truth, "I don't even know a Harry Pearce. I was never a spook." He's lucid enough to remember to lie about that, but even he knows it's not a good one.

"Tom, Tom, Tom. There is no use lying. It won't make me mad or impatient. I have all the time in the world. Proceed."

Tom is expecting pain, a fist to the gut, but the goon produces a needle instead and the little part of Tom that can still think gets worried fast. Patience and calm are things you don't want in a torturer. Angry and impatient is easier. They can be thrown off their game, made to misstep and if needed, goaded into killing you. Calm and patient means no escape, not even in a hasty death.

Tom can feel the drugs burning up his arm and he wonders what is coming. Sodium pentothal? Some designer cocktail? More morphine?

He's standing outside Ellie's flat, but that's not right. It's blue instead of white and she's running to hug him. He knows something is wrong, very wrong, but as he looks around he sees nothing to set off the alarms in his head. Then Ellie is in his arms and whatever was itching in his skull recedes.

He lays her on their bed and kisses her face. He's not sure why, but he wants to hold on to this, to remember her hair spread across their pillows looking up at him with that sly smile of hers. Her face is soft under his calloused finger and she is the only thing in his world.

Afterwords, they lay tangled together, skin sun warmed, and he runs his fingers gently through her hair. He will never leave her. And then the itch is back and soldiers are pulling her away, all of them screaming.

He can't move; he's being dragged away too. Zoë on one arm, Danny on the other, pulling him through flames, out of his burning flat as he watches the men hold Ellie down and the house falls around her screams.

"Ellie," he keens her name, over and over, until he realizes none of this is real, just the same old nightmare in Technicolor. He can't seem to wake up though, stuck in the hell of his own mind.

All the old dreams make an appearance: Harry killing Maise, watching Danny being beaten, torturing Zoë himself. The only difference is that this time there is no alarm to bring him back to the real world.

He can't tell exactly when he goes from dream world to real, but suddenly he finds himself in a padded cell. His mind feels clearer then since he was pulled off the street, clear enough to analyze his situation. He's barefoot in white scrubs and it feels like someone dunked him in a tub and scrubbed him raw while he was out of it. Probably checking for tracking devices or wires. The cell didn't offer many more clues. It was 10'x10', white padded, no windows, one door.

"Ah, Tom, I see you're back with us," says the disembodied voice from before. He assumed he'd been under surveillance, but this confirmed it.

"What do you want?" Tom asks. He's off his game and he knows it. He's been living as a civilian for too long, even if he still sits with his back to the wall in cafe's and jumps when cars backfire.

"Nothing," says the voice and Tom is confused. "We just want you to get better."

"Better?" Tom repeats dumbly. Hadn't they wanted to know what mission he was on? "I'm fine," he says, "You can let me go now." He wonders what kind of psy-ops this loony has been reading up on.

"Don't you remember, Tom? You attacked a woman in the tube, said the voices told you to do it. Your friend Harry pulled some strings, got you in here instead of a trip to prison," says the voice.

"I think you're mistaken," Tom replies, but the voice is gone and he's left alone.

They've taken his watch and the lights never change, but it already feels like he's been here for months, years. He's afraid to sleep again, afraid that he'll be trapped in his nightmares again. That he'll wake up in another new place.

When the orderlies come, Tom considers fighting his way out. He doesn't. He has no idea what's outside this room or if he's even still in Britain. He doesn't even fight when they shoot him up with something again.

"There you go, sir," says the larger orderly in a tone Tom had always used when Maisie was hurt. "You just shut your eyes now and everything will be better."

He doesn't know how many days how many days he spends like this, in and out of consciousness, floating in a sea of his memories. The orderlies come in and out. He learns the silent one's name is David and the one who talks to him like he's a wounded animal is Chaz.

When he beats his fists bloody on awaking, trying to tear his way out of the cell and his nightmares, it's Chaz who bandages his hands, all the while talking as if Tom was five and didn't know better. It's Chaz and his kind words that make Tom fear he really has gone crazy.

He's planted himself in the corner of his cell one morning after waking from the dreams, rocking back and forth, and calling for Ellie when Chaz comes with breakfast. He sets the toast down and crouches next to Tom, putting a hand on his shoulder. Tom looks up at him, "I want to see Ellie."

"Oh, mate," says Chaz, pity lacing his words, "Ellie's dead, remember? That's why you're here. You killed her in the tube."

Tom stares at him, "No, I didn't kill Ellie."

Chaz looks back at him like he knows Tom is lying and for the first time since this all started, Tom starts crying. Chaz squeezes his shoulder, "This'll make you feel better," he says and Tom has a needle in his arm again. He tried to fight against the on coming tide of darkness, but he's unconscious before Chaz even leaves.

Tom hates the days David brings him breakfast. He just stares at him, like he's trying to figure out how Tom had fallen so far from grace. Tom wonders too. He doesn't remember killing Ellie, but why else would Harry have stashed him some place like this? Though, if he had really killed Ellie he wonders why he wasn't dead yet. If he was a danger, Harry would've had him put down, not stashed away somewhere where he might kill again.

If he had killed Ellie and been brought in alive, he'd be strapped to a bed in Thames House Infirmary right now and Harry would be holding his hand. He'd say, "I'm sorry, Tom," and nod to the med tech. He'd stand by Tom's side and hold his hand and tell him not to be scared and that he'd take care of Maisie and everything would be okay until the Phenobarbital hit Tom's heart and it stopped. If this had been Harry, Tom would be dead and not alone. His service jacket would say he was killed in the line of duty, and they would all come to his funeral.

And why doesn't he remember killing Ellie? He can't imagine killing her would be something he would forget, or maybe it would be.

"Chaz," he says the next time the man brings him breakfast. "Did I really kill her?"

Chaz paused before saying, "Yeah, mate, you did. I saw it on the news. It took six bobbies to take you down."

"Why would I kill her?" Tom asked, picking at the seam in his scrub pants.

"You told the docs she was a foreign agent planning to release VX in London. They think you've got paranoid schizophrenia. Hard to tell with ex-spooks I suppose."

***

Malcolm is sitting in the grid watching the monitors. Its not like he has anything to go home to, so even though it's been a slow night Malcolm notices the car pulling up to the Thames House at high speed. He watches as the car turns and a body rolls out the back door.

"Harry!" Malcolm calls across the office and Harry trots over to see what all the commotion is about. "We've got a body dump outside. I'd swear it was Tom Quinn."

That gets Harry's undivided attention and he peers at the grainy image on the screen for a moment before shouting orders. The grid spring to life, people scurrying about to fulfill Harry's orders.

Malcolm follows Harry and the medics down to the street. There are not many other people in Thames House who'd recognize Tom Quinn on sight these days, and Malcolm needs to know.

They finally make it out the front door, and he recognizes Tom immediately. Not much has changed about the man in three years, enough so Malcolm doesn't even think twice about his identity under the blood and mud.

What does surprise Malcolm, and really, everyone, is the fact that Tom Quinn is still alive.

"Harry," comes cracking out of Tom's mouth as the medics kneel around him, poking and prodding. How Tom could see them well enough to tell Harry was there is a mystery. His right eye is completely swollen shut, his left still puffy from fading bruises.

"Harry," he repeats and Harry kneels down beside his head.

"I'm here," he says, placing a gentle hand on Tom's head.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," says Tom. Further conversation is cut off when his eyes roll up into his head and he convulses. Harry looks at the medic and Malcolm can see defeat in the shake of the medic's head. Bile rises in Malcolm's throat but Harry just nods and waits for Tom's body to quiet.

"Tom," calls Harry quietly and Malcolm is praying he'll open his eyes and be well. Paramedics be damned.

He does open his eyes and Malcolm wants to run and hug him, even though he's not well. Tom's eyes are only for Harry, anyway. "I didn't mean to kill her, Harry. I'm so sorry. Take care of Maisie," he manages to gasp out.

Harry leans over him, questions pouring out of his mouth, but Tom is seizing again and the medics pull Harry away. Malcolm knows as soon as the blood comes pouring from Tom's mouth that there is nothing to be done.

The medics call time of death right there on the street.


End file.
